Orange Black White
by GLuisa88
Summary: AU. "It's like destiny. Or something. You try to run from it, but look at us man. Look at us." "Yeah, look at us," Sam says, "Me, a lawyer, you wearing orange. Destiny, right?"


"Well, well, well. What are the chances?" Dean drawls. "Do you believe in coincidences?"

Sam glares as he pulls out his chair and takes a seat across from his brother.

"No," Sam says in a voice deeper than Dean remembers it being.

Dean shrugs, "Well, you know, crazier things have happened. Like you. Look at you man, hot shot lawyer?!"

He taps his fingers against the cold formica tabletop.

"It's like destiny. Or something. You try to run from it," from me, he doesn't say, "but look at us man," He grins. It doesn't reach his eyes. "Look at us."

"Yeah, look at us. Me, a lawyer, you wearing orange. Destiny, right?"

…

Sam looks good. His shoulders have filled out a bit, naturally with age, his posture a little straighter and his movements more graceful, coordinated.

His hands are softer. Callouses on his fingertips, though, and Dean wonders if Sam plays the guitar.

It's strange to see a person you once knew so well ten years later and realize you no longer know them at all.

Except for when he looks Dean in the eyes. It's then that Dean sees the brother he'd raised.

…

"Yeah, Dean. I'm _thrilled_ to see you." Sam lays the sarcasm on thick. "Because, you know, every time I've thought of seeing you again, this is exactly how I wanted it to be."

"Come on, Sam-"

"Look at you, Dean. You look well. Orange looks good on you and just think of what a high profile case like this will do for my career!

"Of course, I'm not going to win it, you're gonna get maximum penalty and I'll spend the rest of my life with nightmares about how I couldn't save my brother from lethal injection.

Sam grins, "So yeah, god damn, I'm _thrilled_ to see you, Dean!"

…

"A Lexus? Fancy." Dean says, indicating with a slight nod at the key dangling from Sam's key chain.

Sam shrugs, "I guess."

"So, all this- a fancy car, a membership at the state bar, a wife, coupl'a kids… is it everything you ever hoped it would be, Sammy?"

Sam doesn't meet his eyes.

"It's good," He says finally.

And that's not what Dean had asked but he doesn't push it.

…

"The prosecution is pushing for the death penalty, Dean. Start taking this seriously. You're being charged with six murders, thirteen grave desecrations, one count of cannibalism-"

"Yeah, that one I can explain…"

"This is above my pay grade, Dean. I try juvenile cases. I don't do murder, slash cannibalism, slash ritualistic satanism!"

Dean spreads his hands, "We're family, gotta keep it in the family, right? Besides, you're probably the only guy out there that'll believe my side of the story- any one else would try for an insanity plea- get me thrown in a nut house!"

Sam laughs, "Yeah, I'm sorry, man. I'm planning to push for the nut house too. Unless you'd prefer lethal injection… I know how you feel about needles."

"Those my only two options?" Dean forces a laugh, "Cause, I was thinking more like burning this place down, what do you say, Sammy? Bake a zippo and a can of lighter fluid into a cake for me, I'll do the rest."

"You've been watching too much Prison Break," Sam says quietly, looking back down at his laptop.

"You think I'm joking-"

"Oh, I'm sure you're not. But I don't know how familiar you are with super max but you're not breaking out. And I don't know how much power you think I have, but I'm just your lawyer and I can't just 'slip you a key' or something."

The room falls silent, only the soft tapping of Sam's keyboard.

Dean wishes John were still around. He grinds his palms into his eyes and groans.

"I don't deserve this, Sam," he says finally. "You know I don't deserve this. I'm not insane, I'm not a psychopath."

"Why do you think I got out? Of hunting. You think it was to get away from dad? Sure. But we all knew the risks of hunting. You dig up graves, you stick knives in shifters, things that look human…"

Dean doesn't answer for a long time. His fingernails dig sharply into his palms.

"Well, good on you, Sam," he says tightly, "So glad you were wise enough to get out when you did. Guess I was just asking for this, wasn't I? You always were the smart one-"

"Dean-"

"Sure, I've been out there risking my neck to save lives and shit- saved your ass a few times you probably weren't even aware of- but, no, I hear you. I knew the risks."

"I'm not- I didn't mean…" He puts his hands around the back of his neck and lets his head drop. "I'm sorry. It's just…This is my nightmare, Dean. This is my fucking nightmare."

…

I'd prefer a needle," Dean's voice is nearly pleading. "I don't want the insanity deal."

Sam grips Dean's arm tight enough to bruise, "Shut your mouth."

"I'm not lying, Sam. You're not going to let me live out the next forty years surrounded by crazy people. I swear to God, I can think of a thousand ways I'd rather die than that."

"I don't think I can get you life in prison, Dean. The charges are too serious. I told you, they're pushing for death."

"Okay."

"No, that's not ok."

"Come on Sam, I don't want life either. With this face and this body, I'm not spending the next forty years tryin' not to drop the soap in a super max."

…

"So, you want to convince them I'm insane?"

Sam doesn't look up from the file he's flipping through, he gives a short nod.

"Okay, so prep me what I need to do. Should I drool? Maybe talk to myself-"

Sam lifts his head, looks his brother in the eye, "You're an idiot. Just be yourself and tell the truth and pray to God the jury doesn't think you're bullshitting them."

…

He wears a suit for the trial. It's too tight through the shoulders, the belt digs into his stomach when he sits down and he's already sweated through the jacket, ten minutes after putting it on.

Nevertheless, it feels good to be out of the prison jump suit, freshly shaven and wearing spit-shined shoes he can nearly see his reflection in.

"We probably won't have to put you on the stand," Sam whispers to Dean as they take their seats.

Dean nods, tugs uncomfortably at his suit pants.

"I was kinda looking forward to it. Flirting with the jury," Dean whispers back. Winks.

"You come across a little sociopathic-"

"_What_?"

"We discussed this-"

"Not the sociopathic part!"

"_Dean_."

"You think I'm a sociopath?!"

"I think you have no idea how to behave in a way that the jury will find sympathetic."

…

The families are there, to get closure, to see justice done for their loved ones.

To see the monster who stole their loved ones from them. To see him hang.

They watch him. He feels their eyes on his back, he watches them weep as they give testimony.

The verdict comes:

_Not guilty by reason of insanity_

He closes his eyes.

He can still hear them weep. He digs his fingers into his palms until his hands start to bleed.

He looks over at Sam, expecting triumph over the verdict they had _hoped_ for.

But Sam's head is bowed, his shoulders are shaking and not for the first time, Dean wishes they had put him on the stand so he could have begged for death.

…

"You know, I've gotten myself out of tougher scrapes than this," Dean says into Sam's shoulder.

Sam's hands press flat against his brother's back, he feels the vibrations of Dean's voice against his fingers.

Sam's words are lodged in the back of his throat, if he opens his mouth he might vomit or he might cry, either way he doesn't think he'll ever stop once he starts.

"I'm not going to say goodbye," Sam says finally.

"Then don't."

"I won't."

"Visit me once in a while."

"I'll bring you a cake. I'll bake it myself."

"With a file in it."

"Absolutely."


End file.
